Escaping the Stars
by PsychologicallyInclined
Summary: Six years after the Hundred Year War, Katara and Zuko find themselves together on Ember Island, picking up the pieces of their crumbling lives. Will what they learn about each other bring them together, or rip them apart? {Rated T for language/implied adult themes} {Zutara with mentions of Kataang and Maiko} {Ch 3 up and rated T for sexual themes}
1. Chapter 1

One

Katara knew that all good things had to come to an end, but this was too good, and it had ended too soon. For the past few months, she had watched her relationship with Aang crumble from a wonderful, lively union to a messy rubble of one sided respect. Her nights, which used to be filled with giggles and soft kisses by the fire, had become cold and lonely. _Goodnight, honey, I love you_ s became nights spent in silence choking back tears. She had worked so hard—so damn hard!—to give him everything he wanted. She gave him space; she held his hand. She seduced; she abstained. But no matter what she did, it was never the right thing. It was always "Katara, please, I need" this or that.

It hadn't always been that way. Things were great at first—better than she ever could have asked for. She and Aang spent six long, happy years together after the war. Six years wasn't something to be taken lightly. Katara knew people who met and were married in that time. And it just didn't make _sense_! People didn't spend seven years of their lives together and then just decide it was over. Sure they'd hit a rough patch, but doesn't every couple have that?

Katara stood on the balcony of the house on Ember Island, bitterly recalling Aang's abrupt departure from both the island and their relationship. They had plans to spend the week there. To get away from everything—everyone. A whole week to ignore all of their responsibilities and just relax and enjoy each other's company. Though it was never said aloud—a whole week to _fix_ it. But less than three days into their stay, Aang stood next her on this very balcony and said; "I have to go to the Earth Kingdom."

That in itself, in any other context, time or place, wouldn't have been a problem. They travelled almost constantly. But this was _their_ week. They'd been planning this vacation for a month. "Aang," she'd said. "You're not serious, are you? You aren't making us leave halfway through— "

"I'm not making you leave," he cut her off. "I think it's better if you stay here."

His words stung. "So, this is how it ends?" Her voice was flat, emotionless. She fixed her eyes on the horizon, knowing that if she looked into his cool, grey eyes, she would lose her composure completely.

"I can pick you up on my way back. I'll get you back to the Southern Water Tribe before—"

"No." It was her turn to cut him off. With her eyes still on the water, she told him that she didn't want him to pick her up. She didn't want to see him. At least not for a while. "Just go."

She knew she hurt him, but she truly felt nothing but distain for him. For an hour she hated the man that her sweet, caring, _good_ boyfriend had become. She hated that he demanded her attention and understanding, while simultaneously seeming indifferent to her needs and beliefs. She hated that he left silently, without pleading for her to forgive him. She hated that he was gone and he was still making her feel like she was the one in the wrong. She hated him for every night she laid awake, cold and forgotten in her corner of the bed they shared. She hated him for every time she fell asleep unsatisfied because he had gotten what he wanted. She hated him for every morning that she woke up feeling safe and warm in his arms. What an incredible lie that was. Now, Katara had come to realize that she was no safer with him than she would have been with anyone else. No warmer with him. Everything that she thought was special—everything that she thought the universe had created for just _them—_ was a beautiful, terrible lie that she told herself because aside from Aang, all she knew was loneliness. He was the first person to hold her through a night. The first one to kiss her and tell her that everything would be alright.

Something within her chest pulled her to call out to him. To run up to him and kiss him goodbye one last time. Just to turn around and watch him go. But the heaviness that weighed down her very heart kept her frozen with her gaze cast steadfast on the mist that rose up from the sea.

And hours later, she stood on the very same balcony, a cramp twinging between her shoulder blades. She hadn't moved; had barely breathed. The sun had begun to set and the sky was set ablaze with a million colors that only shone over the Fire Nation. The uncomfortable warmth and dampness of the air around her made her thin, silk robe stick to the back of her neck. Her neck! She reached underneath her hair and unclasped the orange silk engagement necklace that Aang had so carefully carved for her. They had been riding out their engagement for going on two years. Aang said he wasn't in a hurry to get married. His patience had frustrated her. She wanted a wedding—she wanted the white dress and the flowers and the dancing and the wine. Now, she was grateful for his hesitance. If they had married before things fell apart, she would be forced to live a life of unhappiness. She held the pendant in her palm.

Happiness. The emotion that was furthest from her body at that moment. How she craved the naivety and hope that she held within her that morning. Just hours ago everything was _fine_! But it wasn't. Things hadn't been _fine_ for a while, and she knew that. But, oh, how she wished it had been. She wished from somewhere deep, deep in her chest that she could be lying next to him, breathing on his chest and playing with his fingers. Like she used to. Like _they_ used to.

But he was gone and she was here. _Stranded_. She didn't want to be here—not alone, anyway. The place reeked of bittersweet nostalgia. She hadn't been here in years; the last time her bare feet had touched Ember Island sand, she had been surrounded by her friends. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Toph's laugh, feel Suki braiding her hair, smell Zuko's scent. But Katara did not close her eyes, because she knew that Toph's laugh had matured and Suki spent her evenings braiding her daughter's hair.

And Zuko? Katara hadn't been that close to him since his coronation, when she gave him a goodbye hug and they went their separate ways. Since then, she had been careful to keep her distance from him. She would greet him with a smile and a nod, hold amicable conversations across the dinner table, and sign her letters to him with an extra swish of ink under her name. Of course, she considered him to be a friend—one of her best friends, really—but she had always felt there was an unspoken rule that as the Avatar's girlfriend, she had to be wary of her relationships with other men. She couldn't risk rumors that she was cheating on Aang, so she largely withdrew from most of her intimate friendships regardless of how platonic they were.

Drifting from Zuko was one of the hardest things she had to do. Their relationship had been strange to say the least. She hated him, but eventually the hate gave way to a deep-rooted feeling of attachment. They had so much in common and understood each other on a level that she had never known with anyone else—not even Aang. But she loved Aang, and the world loved Aang. And Katara had to make the decision to appease both her family and the world.

Katara shook her head. Aang never told her she had to stop talking to Zuko. Or Haru. Or anyone for that matter. It was her choice to sever her relationships with all of her friends in order to—what?—uphold the greater good? Now looking back at it, it was all _bullshit_. She hadn't felt like herself since the war ended. At that thought, Katara laughed. Maybe she just didn't know herself—her real self. And suddenly, she felt a new emotion slowly spreading from her fingertips to her chest: relief. She exhaled and blinked a long, hard blink, as if to clear years of fog from her sight. _I'm free_ , she thought. Free from the pressure of being the Avatar's girlfriend, free from all the constraints that she had placed on herself.

Breaking up was liberating. Sad, strange, and hurtful—but so incredibly liberating. She didn't feel better; no that wasn't the right word. Different, maybe. But not better.

Rolling her shoulders, Katara turned away from the sea and walked back into the house. She hadn't bothered to light any candles before Aang left, and hadn't been inside since, so the whole house was eerily quiet and dark. This used to be a place full of life and color, and seeing it this empty made Katara feel uncomfortable. The Ember Island house was one of the few places that Katara truly felt at home. Never had she felt a greater sense of community and belonging than she did in that house. Not even in the Southern Water Tribe. She imagined this was what it felt like to go back to an old home after moving to a new one. There were so many memories engrained into the wood that made up the walls and the furniture. Some of them weren't even hers to remember, but they sprang to life as she ran her fingertips along the door frame. For a brief moment in her mind, Katara saw a young Zuko and an even younger Azula playing with blocks on the floor. She saw a mother giving warm hugs and a father trying to hide a proud smile; a brother playing peek-a-boo and a baby sister giggling. She placed her own family there, wondering what it would have been like to spend a weekend with her mother within these walls. There would have been comfort food on the stove and card games in the living room.

Through the dark, Katara smiled. She felt silly for so fondly recalling something that never happened. Despite the embarrassment that crept up her spine, Katara decided that her mother would have very much enjoyed this house, and that they would have spent every weekend here together if they could. She sat down on the bed—the one that she and Aang had shared just hours before—and stretched her back. Just as her spine cracked, she heard a _thud_ followed by a soft string of curse words coming from the living room.

In that moment, every instinct in her body that got her through the war came alive once again. Katara stood up without a sound and walked softly to the door of the bedroom. She was relatively familiar with the layout of the house, but not enough so to feel comfortable. Her pupils dilated, and her body steadied to a familiar state of muted panic. She could take whoever it was, and she knew that. This was her zone: the adrenalin rush that came with the threat of danger was comforting. She liked it. It felt like home.

The voice was still whispering a series of curse words, and was getting steadily louder—closer. Her eyes, now well-adjusted to the darkness, picked up a glow coming from the left of the door. Fire. She waited, her palm pressed to the wall, for the intruder to come close enough for her to strike. The air was humid—a decent source of water. She could easily bend enough from the air to freeze whoever this was. That was the plan. As the fireglow grew brighter, and the intruder closer, Katara calculated and steadied herself. She took a deep breath, then launched herself around the corner, and hit the intruder square in the chest with a gallon of water that she'd pulled out of thin air. The man hit the floor with another thud, and a harsh, guttural growl. Before she knew what was going on, Katara was on top of him, her foot pressed firmly to his chest and an ice dagger held in her hand—when had she made that? She didn't remember.

"Its me," the man said, still trying to catch his breath. "It's just me."

"Zuko?" Katara took her weight off of him and took a step back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Its my house," he replied, sitting up. "I come here on the weekends some times." He raised his hands and wiped his face. "What are you doing here?" He rose to his feet tiredly, as if he had been haggard by weeks of rough seas.

Katara scoffed and let the ice dagger in her hands melt. "He didn't even bother to tell you." She folded her arms across her stomach and turned her back to the man gathering himself at her side.

"Where's Aang?"

"On his way to the Earth Kingdom." Her voice came faster and louder than she intended. She wasn't quite startled at the sharpness of her own voice, but she had to admit it felt good to sound as angry as she felt.

From behind her, Katara heard a flame ignite with a quiet _puff_ and the creaking of the weathered floor boards. A soft, flickering light cast shadows through the hall. This amount of light would have been negligible if her eyes hadn't been accustomed to the dark, but in that moment, the gentle glow was all but blinding and it stung her eyes—or was that from the tears she was holding back. "There wasn't another riot was there?"

"Its not 'official' Avatar business." Her throat tightened. Her voice wavered.

Embarrassment.

"Oh." Zuko's voice was soft. Hoarse almost.

"Yeah." Her arms dropped to her sides as she turned around. "I'll get our—my—stuff from the bedroom so you can have it." She brushed past him on her way into the master bedroom. The red silk sheets and gold trimmed pillows always seemed so—seductive to her; like something out of a racy romance story. Zuko followed behind her, gently protesting that she could sleep there, that she didn't need to move her things. But Katara didn't want to sleep in that room. Not on those sheets. Not on those pillows.

As Katara stuffed her clothes into her wide brown bag, Zuko made his way around the room lighting the candles and lanterns that his mother had painstakingly chosen to compliment the furniture and curtains. He rounded the padded bench at the foot of the bed, and his toes stepped on something hard and round. Crouching down, he took the intricate piece of jewelry in his palm. Swirling circular patterns were carved into a smooth, white alabaster shell that had been smoothed into a perfect circle. An orange ribbon about two fingers wide was threaded through a curved hook. Though he wasn't familiar with all Water Tribe and Air Nomad traditions, he knew well enough that this was an engagement necklace. And it shouldn't be on the floor. He stood up without a sound and held the pendant in his open hand.

Katara looked up from her bag and paused for a moment, her eyes fixed on his hand. "Yeah." And she continued packing as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "I just have to get my things from the bathroom and I'll move to the next room." She disappeared into the lavatory and came back a minute later with an armful of soap and brushes and perfumes bottles, which she dumped into her bag all at once. She was clearly not in the business of caring too much. And the piece of jewelry that Zuko held in his hands was most likely the reason for that. "There." Katara put her arm through the strap of her bag and slugged it over her shoulder. "Sorry about this. Again, I'm so sorry."

"No," Zuko said. "Don't be. I didn't tell anyone I was coming." He lit a candle on the bedside table and then made his way around the bed again. "You might want this." He held out the engagement necklace, and she stared at it again.

"No. I don't." She turned to leave.

Zuko closed his hand around her necklace, like he'd done so many years ago. "I'm sorry."

Katara sighed and turned back around. "No," she said. "Don't be. He didn't even bother to tell anyone we were coming here." She looked at him for the first time in what felt like years. His hair was long now, and his face was trimmed with the shadow of a beard. He looked thin—too thin for someone running a country. He mustn't have been eating much any more; she knew the feeling. He looked, to be frank, to be the human equivalent of threadbare—worn nearly through in some spots. Faded and fragile. His eyes were tired. He needed sleep. "I don't want to talk about it. Maybe tomorrow. Over breakfast. I'll cook." Each sentence was almost added as an afterthought.

"You don't have to," he said.

"Talk about it or cook breakfast?"

"Either. Both."

"I'm going to have to talk about it eventually. And I haven't been able to freely use a kitchen since I was here last." She nervously rubbed her thumb along the side of the second knuckle of her forefinger. "So, tomorrow over breakfast?"

Zuko nodded and gave her a quiet whisper of a 'yes.' Then said goodnight as Katara headed out the door into the next room.

Without undressing, Zuko laid on the bed, Katara's necklace still in his hand, and wondered silently to himself what went wrong? He had hoped that Katara and Aang would make it, unlike himself and Mai. Mai had been there for him after the War, and it was hard enough to let her go when the time came and the romance was gone; but Aang had been with Katara through the war. Through the hardest, most insane time in her young life! And for it to be over so suddenly—he couldn't imagine how she must feel. He wanted so badly to help her; to say the one right word that would stop all the hurt he knew she was feeling. But she was in her bedroom and that would be inappropriate. And she probably didn't want to hear it from him. She hadn't talked to him—had a real conversation—in years.

It took a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in to his mind. He was alone on an island with one of his best friends. He needed this—and despite the circumstances, he was grateful that she was there.

And in her room just down the hall, Katara laid in her bed, silently thanking the spirits that Zuko was there with her too.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ _Thank you guys for the favorites, likes and reviews! It's been so long since I've written anything, let alone a fanfiction, so I greatly appreciate it! Truthfully, I have no idea where I'm going with the plot of this story, but with the reviews I've received, you guys want something different and new and cutting edge—so I'll do my best to deliver! I won't lie, there will be predicable moments and probably some familiar tropes. But I'm trying my hand at writing a more mature relationship than what I have in the past (probably because now I'm an adult and I've been in a relationship for going on two years now). So I want very in-character, realistic twenty-somethings who have a lot on their plates. So here's the second chapter, and I hope it lives up to your expectations._

 **Two**

"Morning" came too fast for Zuko. He'd fallen asleep without changing, and now he regretted that decision. By the time he had encountered Katara in the hallway that night, Zuko's sea-salted clothes had dried and nearly stiffened against his skin. He couldn't wait to get out of them. But when Katara doused him with water, they became soft again, and clung uncomfortably to his body. When he laid down he had every intention of getting up and changing his clothes and washing himself before crawling into bed and passing out, but the bed was so comfortable and it smelled like flowers and vanilla beans. And as he dozed off he promised himself he would get up in five minutes. Just five minutes to rest his eyes. Just five.

Five hours later, he opened his eyes. His back hurt and his skin felt itchy. Through the smell of his own sweat and rejuvenated sea water, he was still breathing in the scent of flowers and vanilla beans. His right arm was folded across his chest and weighed heavily on his lungs. Discomfort. He squeezed his fingers into his palm—what was that? Lifting his hand, Zuko found that he was still holding the engagement piece that Katara had thrown onto the floor. He wondered, for a moment, through the tired fog that was his mind, what had happened. What had been so bad that they—Katara and Aang, the literal power couple of the world—couldn't work out? For a brief moment, he saw flashes of his relationship with Mai. He saw their fights and their cuddles. Their heated moments and their— _other_ heated moments. And for a split second he caught himself missing her. Missing the stoic, pale-faced girl with knives hidden in her sleeves and between her words. He missed the rare occasions of sweet affection that they shared—almost in secret because it wasn't their style. He missed the way his blood rushed when she refused to yell at him. When her lack of emotion fueled his. But then again, maybe he was just lonely.

Out the window, the sky was still black. No sign of sunlight danced on the horizon—he thought maybe it was gone forever. And maybe it would take his burden of bending with it forever, too. He exhaled warmly, and a tiny flame flickered from between his lips. He wasn't so lucky.

With a groan, Zuko sat up. Every muscle in his body ached. He thought that sleeping in a bed—an actual bed with a soft mattress and ample pillows—would feel like heaven. And it had. When he first laid down. But the muscles in his back had grown used to the hard, thin mattress in the ship, and through the night had worked too hard to keep him still on the plush mattress. Cringing, he stood up. He'd fallen asleep in his boots. In his damp boots. It was a disgusting feeling. Zuko dropped Katara's necklace on the bedside table and made his way to the bathroom. The candles he'd lit hours ago were still burning steadily, as true Fire Nation made candles did. They were made with a special, dense tallow that was cultivated from the fat of pure-bred cattle, whose meat was served to only the richest, most elegant families in the Nation. There was a small village that made its living off of these candles. Each family had their own special scented recipe. One family used cinnamon and cocoa. Another family used lavender and black pepper. And there were dozens of other intricate smells from the good people of that village that tickled his nose throughout his lifetime. Some brought back fond memories, and others not so much. The particular combination of scents in this bedroom had been one that his mother carefully chose, and it reminded him of her.

When Zuko entered the bathroom, he saw a fresh basin of rose water sitting in front of the mirror. Katara must have been expecting to wash her face before his unexpected arrival. He was glad she hadn't emptied the basin, though, because after the night he had, all he wanted was to feel clean. An ugly feeling of shame twisted itself in his stomach. He splashed water onto his face. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so. It felt refreshing. Clean. And how he craved cleanliness. As he raised his eyes to meet their reflection, he felt sick. How could he have sought comfort in her? How could he have let himself sink that low? How could he take advantage of someone like that—even if he was drunk?

The night replayed in his head in quick blurs. There was paperwork. A lot of it. And there was wine. Even more of it. He'd gone through a bottle by himself, and blamed it on stress. But he knew why he turned to the bottle so easily; he wanted to forget. He wanted to forget Mai, and the papers, and the whole world. But he, too, forgot himself. And when a pretty young maid came into his office and became a little too friendly, he didn't stop her. Didn't stop himself. And in his office they committed the most heinous of acts.

Sex was never something that Zuko took lightly. He never thought it was just something fun to do—it _meant_ something to him. But that night it was just a way for him to escape. And he hadn't felt _clean_ since. He knew that the maid was whispering about their affair—how could he not, when half his staff refused to look at him? Hell, he didn't even want to look at himself. He hadn't slept through a whole night since his drunken lapse in judgement, partially out of fear for his life. The staff was like a huge family, if one was hurt, they were all hurt. And that poor woman that he'd taken advantage of was someone's daughter—someone's sister. _Someone_. And he was sure that someone wanted him dead because of it. So he jumped on the first ship he could out of the Fire Nation, hoping to find some peace.

Or maybe he was giving himself too much credit.

Then again, maybe he wasn't.

Unable to look at himself any longer, Zuko blinked and spun away from the mirror. He stripped off his shirt and pants and undergarments and turned around briefly enough to get a towel from the shelf under the counter. He filled the tub with water from the faucet—running water was one of the few luxuries he missed on the ship—and lowered himself into it. He submerged himself fully once, allowing the water to close over his head and engulf him. He held his breath for thirty seconds, then came up for air. With full lungs, he slipped under the water again, this time opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling through the stilling water above him. He wasn't sure how much time he spent under there this submersion, but his lungs began to burn and his heartbeat filled his ears through the serenity of the silence of being underwater.

And he was drowning. His lungs weren't filling with water, but the feeling was no different. Everything was pressing down on him. Thousands of pounds all at once. All over. Infiltrating his body. His soul. Blackness crept into the corners of his vision. Hot red, too. But he was cold. So. Very. Cold. He was dying.

Zuko's face burst out of the water, sending a wave onto the floor. His breath came in sharp pants and his fingers curled around the edges of the tub. He never felt so naked—so vulnerable. And he'd been on the verge of death twice before. But that was death by fire. Death by water was a whole different beast. He coughed. His nose burned and his eyes watered. Fire and water at the same time.

 _Katara_.

She was just down the hall. He wondered if his coughing woke her. He stood up and stepped out of the tub. Dried himself, and dressed in fresh clothes. He pulled the plug and drained the tub, never wanting to be surrounded by water again. Still shaken, Zuko grabbed his razor from his bag and took it roughly over his face. The stubble of a beard that had grown over his jaw came away cleanly, but so did little bits of his skin. In his haste, Zuko had not paid attention to the small red beads that were collecting across his skin. And when he finally took his face in as a whole—droplets of blood and all—he no longer saw the Fire Lord that took advantage of a staff member, but a young man who was far too thin and hadn't seen a good night's sleep in too long.

He saw in himself what Katara must have seen in him. She knew nothing of his escapade with the maid, and for now he wanted to keep it that way. He knew she would hate him for it. Hate him again. Think he was a monster. And he _needed_ someone to just be Zuko with. He didn't want to be the Fire Lord. He didn't want to be that awful man. He just wanted to be himself. With someone who knew him better than anyone. Even though they hadn't kept in touch over the past few years, Zuko was sure that Katara would understand him. She probably already knew something was wrong. He looked a fright, and he knew that.

But then again, she looked like she'd been through the ringer too, though she wore it much better than he did. Zuko always admired Katara's poise and presence in a room. She always seemed to know exactly how to carry herself to elicit any given emotion from him. She could make him feel happy, sad, angry, or—well, anything just by the way her shoulders hung. He patted his face dry with a towel, the pressure stinging the tiny cuts he'd made, and pinched out the candle burning on the wall.

Standing in the doorway, Zuko decided he would go check on Katara, just to make sure she was okay. He was sure she would be sleeping by now, so he walked as quietly as he could, avoiding the floorboards that he knew would squeak under his weight. The door to the next bedroom was shut, and since the empty rooms were all kept open, he knew she'd settled in this one. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped himself when he heard a soft gasp come from inside. Furrowing his brow, Zuko angled an ear toward the door and held his breath. He heard uneven, shallow breaths and quiet sniffles through the wood. She was crying. Zuko wrestled with himself for a moment. Did he go in there and try to comfort her, or did he pretend it never happened? If he knocked and she said to come in, she would pretend she was fine, he knew that much. But he wasn't going to go in unannounced either.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thought. _Over breakfast_.

Zuko turned his back to her door, and took a few steps toward his own then stopped. His throat was dry and sore, and his Uncle had taught him well that tea could fix almost anything. So he made his way to the kitchen, and lit a fire in the pit. He could easily heat a single cup of water with his hands, and it would be a much faster process. But in addition to the healing effects of drinking a good cup of tea, Uncle had also taught Zuko the healing effects of _making_ a good cup of tea. There was something therapeutic in brewing a pot of tea the "right" way.

As the fire warmed the kettle, Zuko found a painted clay mug from the cabinet. He was busying himself with the task of finding honey when he heard a small, but familiar voice coming from the other side of the counter. "You couldn't sleep either?"

Zuko looked up from the mass of jars that he had pulled from the cabinet, and stared at the young woman before him. Her nose was pink and so were her cheeks. Her eyes were still glassy and her hair frizzed up around the back and sides. "You couldn't either?" He decided to play stupid. Like he knew nothing.

"Nah." She leaned her elbows on the counter and side eyed the kettle on the fire. "Can I join you?"

"Of course." Zuko grabbed another mug and sat it on the counter in front of her. They stood in silence for a moment, then Zuko ran his tongue along his top lip and inhaled. "So," he said. "Its officially 'tomorrow.'"

"And?" Katara grasped her mug.

"And tea is part of a healthy breakfast."

"I guess it is." She didn't look at him. She knew exactly what he meant—and his heart gave a leap. They still understood each other. After all this time. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say," Katara admitted. "Things were fine and then they weren't and now we're done. That's how relationships go."

Zuko wasn't buying it. He knew there was more hiding behind her hazy eyes. He knew, to an extent, the pain that she felt. The freedom. All the conflicting emotions that came with a break up. "But this was you and Aang. You were _engaged_. What happened?"

"It just wasn't working," she said. Tension filled the air. He could feel it on his shoulders. On his neck. "I couldn't make him happy anymore."

"Was he making you happy?"

"No." For the first time, their eyes met. Sharply. Fiercely. And it finally dawned on Zuko that she hadn't thought of it that way. Or she hadn't felt valid placing the blame on Aang until someone else did it for her. "He wasn't." She sat with that thought in silence for a minute before she spoke again. "And I feel," she started. " _Wrong_? For feeling the way I do about this."

Zuko rested his palms on the counter opposite her. "How do you feel?"

"Relieved? I don't know." Her eyes started to water.

"You know that it's okay," Zuko said. "To not know what to feel. Or do. Or say. Right?" He hesitated for a moment, then put his hand on hers. "It's okay to be confused."

Katara stiffened at the gesture. Though it was not unwelcome, it was unexpected, and she almost felt as if he had slapped her. She withdrew her hand swiftly.

The tea kettle whistled.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi all! I hope you're having a great day! This fic has become my late night "I can't sleep so I'm going to write something" project. I can't promise regular updates, but so far so good, right? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Three

The tea kettle whistled.

Katara had recoiled too quickly from Zuko's touch, and couldn't help but feel like she'd hurt him. It had taken him a long time to open himself up and show his softer side to her; and they hadn't spoken much in the past few years. He was just trying to be nice. She hadn't known a touch that intimate in a while. Aang had kept his distance, and when they kissed, they were just going through the motions. There was something genuine about the way Zuko touched his fingers to hers. The way his skin kissed hers—it was soft and quiet and timid. And it almost scared her.

She cleared her throat when Zuko turned his back to her to get the kettle from the fire. "I know," she said. "I'm still trying to figure out how I feel."

"It took me a while," Zuko started, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the steaming tea kettle. He walked over to the counter where Katara sat and poured some water into her cup and then his own. "When Mai and I broke up, I didn't know how to handle it. You'd think I would, since it wasn't the first time she and I ended things." He put the kettle on the counter and handed Katara the tin full of tea leaves. "But it was different. The first time we didn't talk about it. I had to leave and that was that. She yelled at me after the fact. This time it was brutal."

He watched Katara mix her tea.

Her hands were steady and her motions were focused. Her lips twitched—pursed and relaxed—in a way that meant she had something to say. He'd seen her like that one other time, the night of his coronation four (five?) years ago. She found him hiding in the hallway away from all of the noise and lights and "Oh hello _Firelord_ Zuko"s. He had been exhausted, stressed, and anxiety-ridden the whole night. He'd promised himself just five minutes of alone time before he thrust himself back into the ballroom full of people he had once at best barely known. The doors to the ball room had been shut, and no one had even thought about leaving the party—and it seemed they weren't about to any time soon either. Maybe that was why his eyes had flown to the doorway the minute it cracked open. Either that or the way the music and light had flooded the dark, silent hallway the way a broken dam spills its water over unsuspecting dry land. His panic was soon followed by relief when he saw it was her that had escaped the crowd. Katara: the girl whose approval he had fought so hard to earn. Well, maybe approval wasn't the right word. Acceptance, maybe.

As she had emerged from the horrifying—yet wonderful—over stimulation of the crowded ballroom, Katara knew better than to speak. Their eyes had met in a knowing silence. They'd both needed a break. Zuko had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretending to meditate or pray or whatever else he could think of. She'd walked over to him, and sat against the wall right next to him, their knees touching. He'd known how expensive her gown was (by Water Tribe standards, not Fire Nation), and that she shouldn't be sitting on the floor. But she'd known that too. And it hadn't bothered her. She'd grown tired of being Katara, girlfriend of the Avatar, and just wanted a moment alone to be Katara. Period. No asterisk affixing her to Aang or the War or Hakoda or anyone. And she'd chosen him to share that moment with. They'd sat next to each other for a long time in silence, her lips pursing and relaxing the same way that they were now.

"I bet," she finally said, looking up from her tea. "Mai's always seemed brutal. Not that that's a bad thing."

Zuko laughed. "Sometimes it wasn't." Katara gave a quiet sigh of a laugh. "What about Aang?"

"Brutal?" Katara said quickly. "No. Dramatic, though. He's always been so dramatic. But you know that."

Zuko shrugged and took a sip of his tea. It was pleasant and warm, and reminded him of Uncle. "He had a lot thrown on him when he was really young."

"So did I. So did _you_."

"And you don't think I'm a bit dramatic?"

"I never said that," Katara laughed and looked up from her mug. This time her laugh was genuine. It bubbled up from her lungs like simmering water. It was small, quiet, but warm and inviting—maybe more like a comforting bubble bath than simmering water. When Katara looked up from her tea, she saw Zuko smile sadly. With his brows drawn together and his lips twitched up at the corners, he looked about as emotionally conflicted as she felt. "What?"

Zuko placed his mug on the counter next to hers, and turned his back to her. He picked up a few more jars full of spices and seasonings, then knelt down and dug around in the cabinet. Within seconds he stood up again, this time with a small red box in his hands. "Do you like spicy stuff?" He asked. "There's these chili peppers that they dry and then coat with sugar. They're really good. I always eat them when I'm having a rough day and they make me feel better." He set the box on the counter between their mugs and opened the lid. A sweet, familiar scent drifted up from the box. "My mom used to get them for me at the festivals when I was little. I always keep a box here."

He pinched a piece of pepper between his thumb and forefinger and held it out to her. She took it into her hands and inspected it. It was smaller than the tip of her pinky finger and a deep maroon color. The skin crackled when she pressed into it with her fingernail. On top of a shiny, smooth coating of caramelized sugar was a rough dusting of cane sugar and cinnamon. It seemed harmless.

Katara looked up at Zuko, who also had a piece of candy in his hand and who seemed to be politely waiting for her to toss hers into her mouth first. She pursed her lips and squinted at him. "Together then?" He asked. She nodded, and the two of them popped the candies onto their tongues at the same time. It was sweet in her mouth for a moment, then, as she began to chew on the gummy-textured pepper, heat exploded in her mouth. Her palate—which she thought had broaded throughout her travels—was too sensitive for the sheer pepperiness that filled her mouth. She coughed as saliva flooded into her mouth and did little to dull the stinging pain that now afflicted every last inch of her tongue.

She felt a hand come firmly between her shoulder blades several times. Had her eyes not been blurred by tears, she would have known it was Zuko, but for a split second, she thought it was Aang and she reached blindly for him.

"I'm so sorry, Katara!" Zuko's voice cut through the sound of her own sputtering. "I should've known—I wasn't thinking—I…"

"No, no I'm fine." Katara dragged her wrists across her eyes and cleared her throat. "Jesus Zuko are you trying to kill me?"

"No! I'm sorry! I thought it was a good idea." He sighed. Looked down. "I'm really bad with good ideas."

"No, you're not." Katara reached for her mug of tea and drew it close to her lips, eagerly awaiting the soothing herbal relief that it promised.

"Wait!" The suddenness of Zuko's voice made her jump, and a tablespoon of water splashed onto the counter. Zuko cupped the mug in his hands and guided it away from her face. He sat the mug on the counter just out of reach and turned his back to her again. He opened the icebox and began digging around for something.

"Now what?" Katara asked, irritation evident in her voice. "Zuko, my mouth is on fire. Just let me drink my tea and I'll go to bed and—" She reached for her mug again, but a tall glass of milk came between her fingertips and the handle of her mug. "I don't drink milk."

Zuko pushed the glass toward Katara. "If you drink the tea, it'll just spread the spice around. This will cool it down. I promise." She gave him a look. "Seriously. Just swish it around in your mouth, you don't have to swallow it."

With a groan, Katara wrapped her fingers around the glass. It was cool to the touch and, she admitted, pleasantly so. A scrunch of the nose, and Katara took a gulp of the unsavory liquid and swallowed it quickly. She sighed with relief as the burning on her tongue was immediately squelched. Her eyes flickered up to Zuko, who was standing smugly across the counter. "Shut up."

Zuko's smirk dropped into a faux shocked gasp. "Get some sleep, Water Tribe."

"Let me finish my tea first, _Fire Lord_."

" _Fire Lord," she said, slinking into his study. She had the neck of another bottle of wine wrapped in her pale, cold fingers. The stem of a second wine glass was held in the others. "Your wine."_

 _He looked up at her. Her face was pretty. He'd seen her around the palace before—probably had known her since they were both children. This was the maid that he always had to be weary of. She'd tried to come onto him several times before, whether for the novelty of sleeping with the boss or the scandal of taking the Fire Lord's faithful name. He had gently turned her down a handful of times before, suggesting that she be better serving someone else. Though he'd never been attracted to her, he had to admit that in this light, she was nothing short of stunning. Her cheekbones were high and her lips were full. Her eyes gleamed with a desire that he knew all too well. And if she would stop swaying back and forth, maybe he could collect himself to tell her to go away._

 _Zuko had opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. For when he drew his eyes back up to her—they'd wandered elsewhere—he saw her reaching for the sash that held her robe together. For a moment he could feel a warm tension holding him in place. He wanted to see more, but didn't dare ask for it. Even through his drunken haze, he knew he shouldn't be looking at her. But as her robe fell to the floor and she stood there before him, as bare and beautiful as any Fire Nation girl he'd seen, he forgot. He forgot who he was and who she was. Because she was there and she was perfect. Perfect for his bleary eyes and his wanting hands. And mouth._

" _Are you going to touch me, Fire Lord?" She had asked, raising her chin as if to challenge him. To dare him not to. When he approached her, she didn't look afraid. She looked, excited. She whispered to him that he would be her first, then kissed his neck. His hands wandered over her body. Sighed his name. "Zuko."_

"Zuko?"

He blinked hard, ridding the image from his head. How long had he been staring at nothing? How long had he been reliving that night—that horrible night? "Woah, yeah. Sorry."

"Are you okay?" Katara reached a hand out to him, not unlike he'd done for her half an hour before. "You were zoned out there for like a whole minute."

It was only a minute? It felt like a lifetime? "I guess I'm tired." He took a long sip from his tea and shifted his weight to his other foot, moving him just enough to avoid her touch. He wasn't ready for her to feel how unclean he was.

"Me too," Katara admitted quietly, clasping her fingers around her mug. She welcomed its soft warmth. "Do you want to go to bed?"

" _Do you want to go to bed?" Her breath came hotly against his skin. There were fingers. Hands and lips. And tongues. And teeth. It was barbaric. He didn't care where they were. He didn't care that she'd carelessly left the door open. She didn't care where he touched her, just as long as he didn't stop._

" _No." He managed, grabbing a handful of-something. He kissed her skin hungrily._

"No," he said distantly. Why was this happening to him?

"No?" Katara stood up. She walked past him and placed her mug in the sink to be washed in the morning. The sun's early rays were spilling over the horizon, casting a soft orange glow across the sea. "Well. I guess you _do_ rise with the sun." She sighed and looked at him with a worried gaze. "I'm going to go to bed. If you don't want to sleep, meditate or something."

As she walked away, Zuko couldn't help but feel something in the pit of his stomach. Something somewhere between shame and elation. She knew nothing. Her ignorance was comforting—a much needed change for him. He sought solace in the fact that the intrusive images that pushed their way into his brain were only playing before his eyes. He was glad that Katara, the good woman that she was, couldn't see the way he took ahold of that poor woman in his study and had his way with her in a heated rush on his desk. He was glad she couldn't even imagine the way he slumped back in his chair after the ordeal was over, too bleary eyed to notice that his mistress was clothing herself and making her way out the door.

Yes, Zuko was glad that Katara didn't see him that night. He was glad that she only knew him as the boy who helped her find her mother's murderer. The boy that took a bolt of lightning for her. His fingers drifted absently to his abdomen. Everytime he caught his reflection in the mirror, the star shaped scar that spread the width of his hand across his skin reminded him of the day he dove between Katara and certain death. He would be in denial to say that he hadn't loved her that day. Hadn't loved her since she was the one he had to win over to earn his place in the group. But that was an old flame that he hadn't felt burn in a long time.

And it was one that he couldn't bear to feel again.


End file.
